Not This Time
by Marc Vun Kannon
Summary: Sarah's memories of her years with Chuck may be gone, but her memories of the time before that aren't what they used to be either. This story also presents the events of Chuck vs The Epilog from Sarah's point of view, so it's recommended to read that story first.
1. Chapter 1

Set during S5E12, Chuck vs. Sarah. Sarah's memories of her years with Chuck may be gone (or at least temporarily misplaced), but her memories of the time before that aren't what they used to be either. This chapter is based on S2E4, Chuck vs. the Cougars.

My thanks to Anti-Kryptonite and BDaddyDL on Twitter for their comments and advice. They made this a much stronger story.

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><p>Sarah Walker pulled into the parking lot, stopped in one of those slant-wise spaces that so annoyed her. Not that she cared much about parking spaces, but when you're chasing a target and the cars are all parked slant-wise and you have to either dodge around the damned things or walk over them—they had an operational impact and that annoyed her. She liked her missions clean. In, kill, out again. No fuss.<p>

Climbing over cars at top speed got you noticed. She was already noticed too much as it was, a useful distraction most of the time. As long as it didn't get you remembered, and dead men don't remember much. They ignored the knife in the hand in favor of the pretty face and that was operationally useful so it didn't annoy her.

She sat in her car, staring at the green-and-gold face of the dinky little retail store in a dinky little mall in a dinky little town. A waste of space. A good cover. Access to electronics, random, easily-explained absences. A good spy could do a lot with a cover like that, or a bad one, and this Bartowski guy was one of the worst, according to her new handler. Not that this guy Quinn had actually said 'worst.' No, he'd said something far worse than 'worst.'

"Graham's dead, Sarah."

This guy Bartowski was good at being bad. He'd betrayed Bryce, stolen government secrets, compromised her, and through her had killed the closest thing she had to a father since her real father went to prison. Through _her_. And she couldn't even remember how the bastard had done it! Her loss of memory annoyed her. She could remember Graham well enough!

"Nice toss." That was the first thing the Director had ever said to her, after she'd come close to skewering him. His reflexes were terrible; no field agent would have been so slow. No living field agent, that is. The dead ones were that slow at least once. On the other hand, he may have been slow but she'd been too fast, missed her target, and disarmed herself, all in one motion. She hadn't even been ready to run. She felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment.

No, not embarrassment. She'd never cared before and she didn't care now. The car was heating up in the California sun, that was all. Not operationally significant but why sweat. She rolled down the window, stared at her face in the mirror, cuts and bruises purpling nicely. Men would feel protective of an injured woman, even Bartowski, for a moment, and she only needed one.

She still carried that knife. She pulled it from her bag and unfolded it, inspected the tip, contemplated how it would feel as it went into one of this Bartowski guy's eyes. His big, brown, puppy-dog eyes. Con-man eyes, tools of a trade she'd long forsaken. She'd even leave it behind, a personal memento in every way. He'd known her, according to Quinn's briefing. That meant his team would know her, know her knife, know what she'd done and that Sarah Walker was coming for them next.

The thought didn't fill her with pride, the way it used to.

A puff of air blew into the car, redolent with the scent of…fried sausage? She stuck her head out the window and looked behind her car, squinting. Crap, she'd parked downwind from some disgusting fast food place. Sarah nearly threw up, sat back in the car, and closed her window. Heat wasn't operationally significant but a vomiting agent drew unwanted attention. The heat was simply incentive to do the job quickly and get away.

She looked down at her knife, eyes dazzled. The handle looked like blood, blood all over her knife. Blood all over her name, the name her father had kept safe, kept pure. So many others she'd used instead, Jenny Burton, Katie O'Connell. None of them were innocent but none of them were her. Graham had known them all, even the first one.

Graham had taken her knife, she'd gotten her money. Not a fair trade. Can't kill people with money, not people who knew as much about you as he did. Whatever her father had done, he'd done it to the wrong people, and even the CIA had sat up and taken notice of them both. Saved his life by putting a travelling con artist into a cell. A small cell. Some life.

He'd offered her a different choice, saved her life a different way. Offered her a last chance to start over, using the name Sarah Walker. Even knowing what it meant. If he hadn't already folded the knife she'd have stuck it in his arm just for that. He had no right! Only her father had the right, but her father was in the back of a police car driving away. Even with his hands empty Graham had held all the cards, so she accepted the use of the name she was never supposed to use, and changed everything else. She should have felt grateful. She used to. She liked the life, and the work gave her purpose beyond cheating and scheming.

She felt sick. The car was hot.

Graham was not her father, had not acted like him, protected her and her name like her father should have, and had. The knife was warm as blood, but not yet covered with it, not like the name of Sarah Walker, and her father had given her both. 'In case of Emergency. Love Daddy.' Love. Then Graham had offered her a chance to use her name at last, no more hiding. She'd made 'Sarah Walker'–_her_ name, hidden in plain sight–synonymous with 'Fear' outside the CIA and 'Respect' within it. But not love.

Suddenly she found herself wanting a different name, yet another 'last chance', but there was no one to give her that. Suddenly she flashed on her target's face, those wide eyes, that goofy grin, like a big…baby. She hated second-guessing herself, hated the way Quinn—that is, Chuck, was twisting even these thoughts around. She stared at the big store in front of her, annoyed that she didn't want to go in. Couldn't bring herself to go out. The knife went away, refolded, into her bag. She'd have to find another place; Quinn had given her until tonight.

She couldn't do this here.


	2. Chapter 2

Set during S5E12, Chuck vs. Sarah. Sarah's memories of her years with Chuck may be gone (or at least temporarily misplaced), but her memories of the time before that aren't what they used to be either. Thanks again to Anti-Kryptonite for comments.

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><p>Sarah Walker drove around Burbank, not aimlessly. Never aimlessly. It was an art form to make it look aimless though. Bartowski had a team; they may have made her in the lot and be tracking her right now. She hadn't seen anyone but you couldn't be too careful in her line of work.<p>

Something was wrong with her. She'd had to lose tails before, it was a common enough occurrence it shouldn't have annoyed her the way it was. This didn't feel like evasive action, it felt like…like running away. She never ran away, but somehow Bartowski had routed her out of that parking lot without even showing his face. He'd done something to her, poisoned her mind.

If only she could remember!

Eventually she ran out of road, a dead-end street that opened onto a beach. She pulled over, unable to turn without giving herself away. Nothing for it now but to make it look like this was where she wanted to be. At least there were no hotdog vendors nearby, or whatever that was. She cracked the window, listening for sirens or screeching tires. Smelled brine. The sea, the sound of waves and the smell of…ocean.

She watched her mirrors, ready to bolt if any cars should appear to block the road behind her. None did, and gradually the smell of the sea displaced the horrid smell of grease that had somehow impregnated every inch of her car. Gradually she grew calmer, allowed herself to believe that she had not been detected. Good. She could continue with her mission.

In a bit. The sound of the waves was…nice. She'd never noticed that before, too busy running for her life, she supposed.

She took a deep breath of salt air, could practically feel her nerves steady. Back to work.

A short while later she pulled up in front of an apartment complex on some road somewhere, unpursued. No cars in sight, no sentries, no cameras. She ditched her coat, grabbed her mask, and sprinted into a small tunnel undetected. From the cover of a small dumpster she pulled on her mask and surveyed the terrain. It was perfect. A small courtyard, lots of plants. She could take out her target before he knew she was there.

Like her Red Test all over again. Empty streets, light rain, innocent girl…

No! Not innocent. She'd done something, something to earn a death sentence. She must have. Graham wouldn't have given the order unless—Graham wouldn't have…

And anyway this Bartowski wasn't innocent!

She ran, into the courtyard and behind some of the plants, her bodysuit blending into the shadows. Even their thermal sensors wouldn't find her. Assuming they had them. Which she was. Good agents did that, good agents followed protocol, good agents followed orders. Not like Chuck—this Bartowski guy, with his erratic behavior.. Honestly, why would the agency wait so long to send a kill order?

Suddenly she was drenched in water as sprinklers went off above the plants, above her. Great, now her goggles were obscured. "Damn it." She didn't dare lose the mask.

A woman entered the courtyard, tall, attractive, brown coat, she matched her mission parameters precise—No! That was Paris. _Keep your head in the game, Walker._

The woman walked right past her, out of reach of the spray but not any of the weapons Sarah had on her. She had no problem with collateral damage if necessary, but it would be better to let the woman pass. Graham hadn't—_Quinn_ hadn't ordered this kill.

The woman walked up to a door, _the _door, and knocked lightly. A large man answered, and Sarah barely restrained herself from shrinking down further. The goon, whoever he was, whatever agency Bartowski had suborned him from, scanned the courtyard automatically and might have detected her movement.

He shut the door, and Sarah moved, readying her weapons just in case.

Only a minute later, the door opened again, and the woman came out alone. _Sloppy._ As she walked she pulled a set of car keys from her pocket—

And dropped them.

"Oh, fudge," muttered the woman, bending to pick them up with one hand as the other dipped into her other pocket. Classic tradecraft. Sarah lifted her gun.

Hesitated to kill a woman who said _fudge_ like that.

The woman pulled a tissue from her pocket, and wiped off the water from her keys when she lifted them from the puddle they'd fallen into.

Sarah lowered her gun. She hadn't been spotted, and it would be foolish to reveal herself over a stooge.

"Ellie!"

"Chuck!"said the woman, and Sarah lifted her gun again. "I was just coming to see you. Any news of Sarah?"

Sarah's heart pounded. Bartowski was here! He was surprisingly tall, taller than her. Not at all goofy. The grin must be another cover, he looked cool, composed, clearly in command of this little cell.

And he wasn't alone. Not only this Ellie operative but he had a bodyguard with him. Unlike the goon inside, he was small, compact. Probably a hand-to-hand expert or a martial artist. She couldn't take three, not and escape to perform the second part of her mission.

A word or two of code, cleverly disguised as chit-chat, and the group parted ways, Ellie moving one way and her target moving closer to her. _Yes!_

No. The goon opened the door as they approached, and again Sarah was forced to delay her vengeance. Her mission, that is.

For a moment she actually contemplated scaling the walls and coming at them from above, but then realized she was being foolish. That innocent façade no doubt covered a multitude of traps, motion detectors, and God knew what all else. She'd never make it.

No, they'd have to go with Quinn's back-up plan, take by stealth what they couldn't take by force. She had to get back, get into her costume as the damsel in distress.

After she…stopped by the beach first.

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><p>AN From here we go into the beginning of ep 12, Chuck vs. Sarah. Future installments will be in the two weeks between ep 12 and ep 13. Please read and review!


	3. Chapter 3

Set after S5E12, Chuck vs. Sarah. Sarah's memories of her years with Chuck may be gone (or at least temporarily misplaced), but her memories of the time before that aren't what they used to be either. I did the math. Day 564, referenced in the mission logs, is in between First Kill, and Colonel, at the end of season 2. So we know what she did about it.

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><p>Sarah Walker drove through the LA night, very annoyed. Set up. Lied to.<p>

Deceived.

_Quinn_ was the traitor, taking advantage of her lack of memory to get her to do his own dirty work, steal top-secret technology, and kill the man who was apparently her own husband. What an idea, that she would ever have a husband. No wonder she believed that lying sack of—!

Until Quinn had tried to shoot her, admitted he lied. Until Bartowski, the man she'd been trying to kill all day, took the bullet for her, and told her to run from his own side.

Until she heard the truth from her own mouth, her own voice. "I'm in love with Chuck Bartowski, and I don't know what to do…" Apparently she'd figured something out, but it was lost along with everything else Sarah Bartowski had ever been, whatever hard choices she'd been forced to make. She must have had to make some, the life of a CIA agent was no drive-in picture show.

Quinn had murdered her, but not enough. The only mistake he'd made. The only one he'd need to make. Like some Viking shield-maiden from Valhalla she'd avenge her own death. She deserved nothing less.

What had her other self been like? All she had was those log entries, getting progressively softer, like Casey said. Was she Sarah Bartowski's ghost? Or was the other Sarah hers, the Ghost of Sarah Yet to Come?

That would make her Scrooge.

Sarah Walker frowned. She wasn't Scrooge. Scrooge was a pathetic shell. Like the other Sarah, Sarah B., clearly upset by Bartowski's Red Test, a test that anyone who would be an agent needed to pass. Bartowski must have passed, since he was still alive, still an agent, still _her_ Chu–husband. What more could this Bartowski bitch have wanted, for God's sake? She didn't admit her lady-feelings for this hero until weeks after that, years after she'd grudgingly admitted them to herself.

She began to get annoyed with herself. She could see being slow to have feelings for an asset–actually she couldn't see that either, she shouldn't have had _any_ feelings for an asset–but dammit if you have the feelings you should damn well act on them, none of this will-they-won't-they crap! If she'd loved Bryce Larkin, even for a minute, she would have told him. And then gotten herself reassigned, far away.

She began to wonder what happened on day 563 that Sarah B. was 'still talking to herself' about loving this guy. Who'd he kill? Must have been something pretty spectacular to make her forget Bryce.

If Bartowski didn't kill Bryce who did? Nothing could kill Bryce, in all their adventures together, not even in Bogota, when that guy had a gun to his head and she'd actually hesitated to make the kill shot. _Had she hesitated?_ No, of course not. She'd just been nervous, that's all, and now she was second-guessing her own memories thanks to that damn Quinn. It had been a risky shot. Even an expert marksman, the kind who can take a target down from a mile away, would hesitate to make a shot like that.

And after those adventures, with his lips that…and his hands…and…She couldn't remember the last time Bryce touched her. Bogota didn't count, that was a mission. Where had she last seen him? Lisbon maybe? No, that was their first mission together. Prague? Why Prague? Quinn, again?

What could have made her forget Bryce? The most passionate kiss of her life had been with–Bryce, and a…bomb was in there somewhere? Maybe that was Prague? She'd been afraid of _something_ in Prague, that's for sure.

She was going to kill Quinn, and then she was going to bring him back to life so she could kill him _again_.

She reached out and snapped on the radio, filling the car with classical music. Ballet. Tall women, real ballerinas, in those frilly pink costumes. _So cute._ She snapped the radio off again. _What the hell am I doing?_ She never listened to music while she drove. She had to keep an ear out for approaching vehicles. She needed to get her head in the game, and this mission needed her rage, not…ballet. Anyway, she had no use for music she couldn't dance to, tangos, waltzes, stuff for the mansions and embassies. The club stuff she didn't bother to learn, just pivot the body enough and most males could care less, even if you were taking down an entire strike force in the process.

Suddenly she wanted to hear music. She turned on the radio again, switching away from the classical station, searching for something that suited her mood better. There we go, something slow and sad, telling of lost loves and broken promises. It filled her car, her ears, her heart, something for Bryce, something for Bartow–something for Chuck. Hell, she'd even mourn Sarah B., for his sake.

Just this once.

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><p>AN It's a bit of a downer ending, I know. But we all know where it's going, that's gotta be a good thing, right? Hoping you'll read and review, as always.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N **Set before S5E13, Chuck vs. the Goodbye. Sarah's memories of her years with Chuck may be gone (or at least temporarily misplaced), but her memories of the time before that aren't what they used to be either. All the songs were chosen for the appropriate lyrics. Sarah only really heard one, and one has no connection to the show at all except that I like it.

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><p>"<em><strong>I get knocked down, but I get up again,<strong>_

_**You're never gonna keep me down…"**_

Sarah Walker was about to lose her mind. That song, if it could be called a song, had been playing in her head for days. She had no idea where she'd first heard it. She kept the radio on in her car all the time now, just to provide some relief, but when she was out of her car that ridiculous tune just got right up again.

So she could perhaps be excused for the deranged look in her eye as she stared down at her latest unwilling source of information. "I'm going to ask you one time. Where is Nicholas Quinn?"

"He'll kill me if I talk!"

"I'll kill you if you don't, and I'm here." At that particular moment a little bit of madness didn't hurt.

"You're gonna kill me anyway."

"So will he. Talk, and I'll be nice about it."

_**A modern-day warrior, mean mean stride**_

_**Today's Tom Sawyer, mean mean pride…**_

Sarah Walker strode from the building, lighter by a bullet, heavier by an envelope. Her stuff, taken from her by Quinn because it was too…too…what? 'Modern' wasn't right, the lie he'd fed her was that she'd forgotten the last five years, not that they hadn't happened. What could be in the envelope that threatened the lies he'd told her?

Once safely locked in her Porsche she opened the envelope and slid the contents into her hand, an old version of the phone Quinn had given her. Many more little pictures. She had no idea what most of them stood for. She pressed one labeled Photos, and was rewarded with many images of Chuck, some by himself and some with her–no, not her, Sarah B.–standing in various compromised and compromising positions. Whatever was that metal bikini for?

One image stood out, and she clicked on it. That Casey guy, the NSA burnout, cuffed to a bed in his underwear. Cute boxers.

She exited the photos, and clicked on Music. _Hmm_. Lots of playlists. She clicked on a list and a song at random.

"_**I can swear I feel the beating of a cold cold heart**_

_**Or there's a chill, 'cause it's showing through your clothing**_

_**And as far as I can…**_**"**

She dropped the phone, practically flung it from her in a sudden spasm of…terror. Utter despair mixed with utter delight, slicing through her soul like a burning razor blade. Of course the horrible song kept playing, and she had to retrieve the device and figure out how to shut it off or end the song or just lower the volume or _something!_

She stared at the list, shuddering. How many more little bombs there? The temptation to just delete them all was strong, but…no. These weren't her songs, but they were _his. _Chuck's. Send them away, send them to him. Get rid of Sarah B. She even had an envelope. Until then, easy enough to just not listen to the voices in her…no, the songs in the…

"_Keep your head in the game, Bartowski!" _She could practically hear Casey growling at her, Chuck, that is, and knew that he was right. This was no time to get distracted. That reminded her…

She called up the picture again, wondered what had distracted Casey. That looked like Carina's work. _God, Carina! _She'd just eat Chuck alive.

Sarah frowned, annoyed. The thought wasn't as funny as she expected it to be. Wasn't funny _at all_.

Too bad she couldn't trust Carina, couldn't trust any of her old CAT Squad 'friends'. Friend. Carina was wild, Amy was a ditz. Only her friendship with Zhondra kept the group together, and when Amy, that is, Zhondra betrayed them to Gaez they just fell apart.

Too bad. She could use them right now.

Instead she was saddled with the Ghost of Sarah Past and her abysmal taste in music. She had to get that sound out of her head and she didn't have any of Casey's brain-bleach. The radio wasn't going to be enough, she needed stronger stuff, and she knew just the thing. She pulled out her own phone, with its much smaller list of songs. _I wonder if Bartow- if _Chuck_ knows this one?_

"_**The bittersweet between my teeth**_

_**Trying to find the in-between**_

_**Fall back in love eventually**_

_**Yeah yeah yeah yeah"**_

Sarah sung the refrain under her breath as she drove to the airport, the repetitive music keeping her mind clear of anything trying to get back up again. "Yeah yeah yeah yeah." She wasn't sure if she was affirming the bitter or the sweet.

She wasn't sure if she cared. Bitter was probably easier anyway.

Unfortunately she had to leave her music behind when she reached the hanger. The private jet was too brightly lit and heavily guarded for her to sneak on board, but the luggage wasn't. They wouldn't expect a CIA agent to be able to fold herself up like an accordion, it's not like she made a habit of it. Her steps as she crossed to the heap of baggage were covered by someone's radio, playing a song she'd never heard before. As she knelt upside down, she seized on the muffled music like a lifeline, a much-needed replacement for the song in her head, and a distraction from the-_oof!_-rough treatment_._ She could have used a better class of baggage handler right about now, but she took what she could get.

"_**I asked my captain for the time of day**_

_**He said he throwed his watch away**_

_**It's a long steel rail and a short cross tie**_

_**But I'm on my long journey home."**_

Wherever that was.

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><p><strong>AN2** This story went to songfic very quickly, and I had a bit of a problem thinking of good songs. The burning razor blade is a premonition of the burning memories I mentioned in my story Chuck vs. The Epilog.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N **Set after S5E13, Chuck vs. the Goodbye. Sarah's memories of her years with Chuck may be gone (or at least temporarily misplaced), but her memories of the time before that aren't what they used to be either. I always felt Bryce was treated rather badly

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><p>The right place, at the wrong time.<p>

She'd gone to many beaches in the last two weeks, even walked up out of the sea on to one, but none were the right one. The sand or the sea were the wrong color, made the wrong noise, or felt wrong to her bare feet. Soothing, yes, but…

She'd finally found the right one, the right sand, the right sea, the wrong sky, a beautiful sunset. She would wait, though, until the right one of those came along too. She'd gone to find herself and this was just as good a place as any. It's not like she had any other place to go.

Chuck wanted her to come 'home', of course, but it was _his_ home, Sarah B.'s home. Sarah W. may not have disliked Sarah B. as much as she once did, but she didn't like her any more, either. Everybody was so patient, expecting her to get better, but what was wrong with her now?

No, that was a lie, she could feel the difference and she knew she'd been better before, but was she supposed to play catch-up on five years overnight? She'd never be the Sarah B. they all wanted anyway. Even if she got her memories back right now, instantly, she'd be the Sarah B. who'd had her memories stolen and almost killed her husband. Nobody would win that one. Sarah B. wouldn't mind losing those memories, but those memories were all Sarah W. had of herself, and she wasn't about to risk erasing herself just to make Chuck and his family happy. That sun was going down.

Twilight, neither dark nor light, the most uncomfortable time of the day. She could sympathize.

_Aaand cue Chuck, right on schedule._

"This place is important, isn't it?" Not a question, just a request for confirmation. Chuck would give her that. He was a man first, a husband second, and 'spy' came in a very distant third. Possibly fourth. How did he survive in her world? She and Casey certainly hadn't lasted long in his.

"This is where you first asked me to trust you."

_Trust her?_ Trust her to do what? She was a handler, he was supposed to be an asset. Neither of those was big on trust. That was her mistake, but not just hers. Everyone thought he'd been a part of it, done it on purpose, had chosen this life, and reacted accordingly. It never occurred to them that greatness, and the Intersect, had been thrust upon him by the one spy still capable of trust, Bryce Larkin. If she'd reacted as a con man's daughter instead of a spy she would have seen it, but she hadn't wanted to be a con man's daughter.

Chuck was an asset the way he was a spy. He defined those roles but they didn't define him, and Chuck had a much wider notion of 'trust' than a spy like her did.

"I'm asking you to trust _me_ now."

Like she could ever trust him that much. She had only a little bit to give him, a very small hand to fit inside his very large glove, but she was a spy and a con man's daughter. She was used to it. "Tell me our story." Maybe her hand would grow to fit the glove. Maybe she could pretend it did.

He talked for a long time.

Not long enough, she was sure. She laughed, yes, but she didn't cry, and no love as strong as theirs had supposedly been could have gone without tears. His kindness wouldn't give her the truth. She wanted the truth. She didn't want her memories, and she didn't want Sarah B., but she wanted truth and she wanted Chuck. If a kiss would do it…"Kiss me."

He kissed her like his life depended on it, she kissed him like hers did.

She knew his kiss, the feel of it, the smell of him, the taste. The curl of his hair as she gripped it and held on to him for dear life. He was _her_ Chuck, he was–_Jenny's Chuck?_

Pain spiked through her head, and she broke off the kiss, flinching.

God, she'd hated being Jenny Burton, all her teenage self's insecurities magnified. Ask anyone who knew her then and all they'd remember would be bad hair, braces, and a violin. Which was just the way her father had wanted it.

"What's wrong, Sarah?"

"Just pain." No big deal, Sarah Walker doesn't fear pain. "I've had this headache for like, two days now." Ever since the airplane.

"And you never mentioned it? You could have a concussion! Come on, let's get you to Ellie, she'll make sure you're okay."

Ellie was getting ready to go to Chicago, but she was willing to call in a favor from her friends in the MRI department, for Chuck's sake, if not for the person who pulled a gun on her at lunch. As she slid into the tube, Sarah found herself succumbing to the drowsiness she always felt, a back-to-the-womb experience combined with the fact that she'd been up all night.

_I'm sorry, Ellie…_

Ellie was right to be suspicious. ..

She would have been herself…

'Suspicious' was her default setting…

The machine started to hum.

"_You should have been suspicious of me right off. I mean, why would a girl like me ever fall in love with a dorky nerd like him?" Heather Chandler, just now voted the girl most likely to get her ass kicked.  
><em>

"_You'd be surprised."_

Sarah jerked awake, surprised. The machine had stopped, and they were pulling her out. _That was quick._ She moved to sit up.

"No, no, Sarah. Stay right there." Ellie's voice was firm. "We just have to change the settings."

"Why?"

"What do you mean, 'why'?" asked Ellie, coming into view over her head. "You're pregnant."

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><p>AN Just to be clear: I didn't feel the need to use every line of dialog from that scene. This series of snapshots wasn't originally intended to lead up to anything but they took on a life of their own as usual, and now it's heading toward the Epilog. Like The Deep Dark Hole, or the Three Day Tour, the incredibly strong self-will of Sarah Walker is the obstacle that needs to be overcome now. I have no intention of writing a different resolution to the memory issue.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N **Set after S5E13, Chuck vs. the Goodbye. Sarah's memories of her years with Chuck may be gone (or at least temporarily misplaced), but her memories of the time before that aren't what they used to be either.

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><p>Sarah Walker sat in the hospital chapel, all alone. Well, as alone as you can get in a chapel, anyway. And pregnant. Doubly not alone. "What do I do now?"<p>

Doubly ignored, too. _See, this is why people lose faith._

She looked down at herself, her belly and the life Ellie had told her was even now growing inside it. The miracle of modern science, that it should know before she did. Another week or two, maybe she'd start puking. Happy or sad for no reason, for any reason. Then she would have had some clues, been able to figure it out for herself, had she been so minded.

For now she was just going to have to take it on faith. Sarah snorted at the thought. _Taking science on faith!_

Science and technology said she was pregnant. Science and technology said her memories were gone. Should she take that on faith too? She certainly didn't feel like herself. She remembered…cups. Walls and beaches, and other little things. Little pieces of memory without context, torn photos after a hurricane. The feelings that went with them were faint, and had nothing to do with Chuck. She could see feeling satisfied about the wall, and the calmness that she felt even thinking about beaches, but why would cups leave her feeling watchful?

She definitely had feelings for Chuck. Her body knew it on a level far beyond anything mere science and technology could touch, and had let her know that in no uncertain terms. The remnants of Sarah Bartowski, wordless and mindless. Scent and taste and…she felt ill.

_Good timing, kid._

The kid didn't bother to answer back, but the feeling faded.

_What _do_ I do now?_

Someone walked up, stopped right next to her. She hadn't heard him enter. "A chapel, eh? Never thought I'd see a daughter of mine in one of these places."

She looked up, confused. "Dad? What are you doing here? Pulling another con?"

"In a chapel? Good God, no."

Interesting that he had such scruples. "Why not?"

He shrugged. "Professional courtesy."

She frowned at him. "You're calling religion a con?"

"Didn't say that," he said, not looking at her. "I was talking about faith. We all deal in faith, in our own ways, and I would never interfere with honest faith in any of its forms." He chuckled. "The dishonest ones are quite enough to keep me busy until the day I die."

"So why _are_ you here?"

Jack Burton looked down. "You're my daughter. Where else would a good father be, or even a bad one like me? Scoot over, pun'kin." He looked around as she scooted."I don't see the schnook. You're still married to him, I hope."

She frowned at him again as he sat. "You hope?"

"I'm good at reading people, sweetheart. It's the only real skill I have. I bet on 'happily ever after' for you two a long time ago, and I don't want to be proven wrong."

She could believe that, and looked away. "So that's all this is, a pride thing?" She didn't want to believe it, but she could.

He smiled. "No. He makes you happy, and I want you to be happy. I haven't seen you smile since I came in, so I figure something's up."

She couldn't look at him now, couldn't just shrug it off either. He'd see through any lie. "I'm pregnant."

He made an _Ah! _noise as if he was really surprised, then looked at her closely. "Well, normally that would be a cause for celebration, but while the expression I see on your face starts with an 'H' it doesn't look like 'Hallelujah'."

"You can't help me." Acceptance. Declaration. Fiat.

He dismissed it all with a casual wave of his hand. "See, now that's the faith thing I was talking about. Your schnook loves you, to the depths of his soul and yours. That's where your life is written, not your memories. Seek and ye shall find."

Now she could look up him, surprise on her face. "You, quoting the Bible? Aren't you afraid of getting smitten?"

"That's 'smited', and the answer is no. Professional courtesy, remember? Have you tried the other half of the quote, even asked anyone yet?"

"Can _you_ help me?" She clearly expected the answer 'No'.

"Sorry, sweetheart, that piggy-bank is in Chuck's hands now, and mighty safe there. I did what I could for you in the past, but you're too big and I'm too old to be carrying you back into grandma's house now." He looked around, sighed in satisfaction. "Someone will be along soon. It might be a good idea to at least try to let them help you. Let them leave their footprints in the sand for a while."

Whatever that meant. "How do you know?"

"Hey, that's what dream sequences are all about."

She turned her head sharply. "What?"

Ellie smiled at her. "I said, wake up sleepyhead, your ride's here."

"Chuck?"

"No. You sent him off to bring your General up to speed, remember? Morgan just got here, and he's waiting downstairs, probably in a fire lane or a no parking zone, if I know him. Best to get you home, and I'm going to make sure that's right where he takes you." Ellie stood up and maneuvered a wheelchair into her former place. "Hop in."

Sarah looked at the wheelchair. "I can walk."

"Don't make me quote hospital rules at you. You were staggering before, and a catnap sitting up on these benches probably didn't help much."

Help. _Let them help._

She mustered a smile. "Okay."

As she pushed the wheelchair through the hall, Ellie said, "I want to apologize for anything I may have done recently to make you feel unwanted or unwelcome."

Sarah twisted her head around to look up. "Ellie, you don't need to apologize to me. You have every right to be mad at me, I pulled a gun on you."

"Oh, I'm mad all right, but not at you. Someone twisted and perverted my father's work to make you do that, and I have sworn oaths to several powers higher than me, my father's memory among them, that I will fix what they broke." The elevator was strangely, and thankfully, empty. Ellie moved and squatted down to eye-level to face her charge. "I will make the same promise to you, Sarah. I will do everything in my power to make this right."

Sarah knew she should feel grateful to Ellie, and she did, but something in her still bristled at the idea that there was something wrong with her in the first place. She contented herself with a simple "Thank you."

The lobby was both too busy and not busy enough for further confidences, but nothing more needed to be said. Morgan has, as predicted, pulled up in a fire lane, using his cell phone to close to the hospital to let Ellie know he was there, so he wouldn't have to leave the car and risk getting a ticket. As Ellie and Sarah approached they could hear music of some obnoxious sort. Ellie yanked the passenger door open.

"_**She blinded me with science…!"**_

"Morgan! Turn that crap off, you know Sarah doesn't like music!" She turned back to Sarah as Morgan hastily complied. "Sorry. Let's get you out of this chair." With an expert hoist and a simple twist, Sarah went from one seat to another, much better upholstered one. "Morgan! Straight home! I'm not going to tell you to put her in bed but that's where she's supposed to go."

Morgan saluted. "Oui, mon capitainette!"

Ellie made a face and closed the door.

As they drove off the grounds, Morgan asked, "You don't really hate music, do you? I know the old you did but the new you, I mean, Chuck's you, didn't, and I don't know if the new old you does or-I'll just leave it off."

"Thanks. I really don't need the distraction right now." She leaned her head back and shut her eyes.

"Yeah, I heard, congratulations! It _is_ congratulations, right?"

"What do you think, Morgan?"

Most people, that would have been an invitation to shut up, but Morgan wasn't 'most people.' "I know, it's great! Like Molly, but really yours. I know you don't remember back when you guys decided to make the little tyke—or tykette, as the case may be—but back then you could have powered half the city off of you two. Sure, your missing memory kinda sucks, but it's not the kid's fault, is it? This is gonna be great!"

She frowned at him. "Has anyone ever told you how much of a fool you sound like sometimes?"

"A couple of people, a couple, sure, but I haven't spoken to my mom lately so maybe she's changed her mi—"

"Shut up, Morgan."

He saluted. "Shutting up, sir," he quoted. "I mean, ma'am. Shutting up, ma'am."

* * *

><p>AN Cutting it a bit short here. I wanted this to be the final chapter but the conclusion is arguing with me so I'm splitting it off.


	7. A Woman's Home

**A/N **Set after S5E13, Chuck vs. the Goodbye. Sarah's memories of her years with Chuck may be gone (or at least temporarily misplaced), but her memories of the time before that aren't what they used to be either. A conclusion of sorts. The first 6 chapters set up the development of Sarah to the beach scene and a little after, using the motif of Sarah's memories of people she knew before Chuck to show how different she is even without her memories. At this point the story diverges from that pattern, which I didn't plan for at the time but doesn't surprise me in the slightest. (All my stories change on me like that.) The next three will show how Sarah got to be the way she was in the Epilog.

* * *

><p>She awoke on a cold, hard surface, one of the benches in one of the holding cells in Castle. The entire facility was dark, and quiet, and she didn't know what roused her. It wasn't until she pressed the panel by the door that it occurred to her to think she may be a prisoner, that it might not open, but the notion hadn't fully formed before it opened. She walked alone, into cold darkness. Down the hall she could hear whispers in the dark, a play of light in the shadows, and she walked that way.<p>

The big meeting room was empty of both whispers and light, the table cleared of everything. The screen flared to life, General Beckman staring down on her in all of her military glory. "Agent Walker."

"Ma'am?"

"Agent Walker, what is your duty?"

"My duty, ma'am?"

"Yes, Agent Walker. Your service. Your loyalty."

"My loyalty is to my husband, General."

"Do you love him?"

"Yes, ma'am, I do."

"Very well. Sarah." General Beckman reached out of the screen and placed a single file folder on the table, very thin, its label blacked out. Sarah reached out to open it. "That file is everything we have on your current…situation," said Beckman.

The file contained pictures, shots that Sarah had no trouble recognizing. The Wienerlicious, arranging cups. A wall in an empty house, her name carved into it. An empty beach at sunrise. Many more, but not a lifetime's worth. "I know these." The last page was blacked out, like the file's name. She couldn't bring herself to touch it. "What is this?"

"The file is C.W.C., and B.A.R. Only someone with a need to know can view it." Beckman leaned forward. "Do you need to know?"

_C.W.C._ "Will it answer my questions?" Could one little sheet do that, even codeword classified?

Beckman shrugged, as much as her uniform would allow. "It might, at great cost. Or it might not. The cost is the same in either case."

A con man's daughter would only go after a sure thing. Sarah closed the file. _Faith._

"As you wish," said Beckman, and the screen went dark.

Sarah woke and opened her eyes, staring at her own ceiling in her own bedroom of her own house. She rolled over in her bed and reached out a hand. Nothing. Chuck was busy in Castle, no doubt. Determined to make Carmichael industries a success without using Volkoff's money to do it. Buy her the house with his own effort. One of many things she loved him for.

"_Do you love him?"_

"_Yes, ma'am, I do."_

The dream, never quite the same, four times in as many months. She hesitated in different places, said different things at different times. She never accepted the file. Her 'father' was right, even in dreams. She needed no file, just one special man. She had only to see him, be with him, and she knew who and what she was.

She felt so much smaller alone. _Maybe that's what love is. _She hated it when he was away, and he was away so often lately.

The living room erupted in gunfire, with the occasional explosion. She swung out of bed, still mostly dressed, and flung open her bedroom door. "Morgan!"

Morgan dropped the remote and his game controller, and raced to the TV to lower the volume. "Sorry, Sarah. Chuck got a call to do a Piranha-class job so he had to stay in Castle, and he asked me to stick around, in case-"

_What was 'Pirahna-class', some kind of spaceship?_ "Forget that. Take me to Chuck." She couldn't get by on nothing, not any more.

"Are you sure? You've only been asleep for a little while…"

"I know what I need, Morgan, and lying in bed by myself isn't it. I need Chuck." She needed her shoes.

"Going with the heart, good move." Morgan made a one-two gesture. "Like I've always said, the head will only get us into trouble."

She raised a skeptical brow. "Like you've always said, huh?"

He ducked his head sheepishly. "Well, no. Actually, come to think of it, I think it was Chuck who really said it, but hey, it's still true, right?"

"Yeah, it's still true. Maybe you're not such an idiot after all."

"Oh, I'm still an idiot. I just know who to believe, is all. That's why I keep people like you and Chuck around."

She smiled. "You keep _us_ around, huh?"

_Oops_. "Maybe I shouldn't have said that part."

"Drive me to Castle and it'll stay our secret."

"Done."

* * *

><p>The hallways of Castle were dark and empty, so like the Castle of her dreams that Sarah shivered. Chuck kept most of it dark, reserving their electric bill for the necessary stuff. Beckman still hadn't managed to free up the forty million dollars that Decker had frozen on them, and until she did CI was skating on thin ice. In California.<p>

The table in the conference room had no files on it, of course, and General Beckman did not make an appearance, even though Sarah paused a bit, just in case. Chuck was probably in his specially designed operations room, so she headed there.

He lay sprawled out in a comfy chair, earphones in and dead to the world. An empty bottle of chardonnay stood proudly next to a big red button, and she knew where its contents were now. _A piranha-class hack, eh?_ Some sort of guy code? Looked more like a drinking binge to her. Spreading a light blanket over him, she stopped when she saw what he was listening to. Her phone. The one she sent back to him weeks ago. With all of Sarah B.'s songs on it. God, it had been so long since she 'd even thought of Sarah B., but it looked like maybe Chuck still did. She pulled out the nearest earbud.

"…_**I'm feelin' good!"**_

Nerveless fingers dropped the bud, and the pulses of sound drove her off. For a second she dithered, torn between putting it back and fleeing, but flight won.

* * *

><p>Morgan still waited by the car, damn him. "How was he?"<p>

"He was…sleeping."

"Damn, I _knew_ I should have been there! The more he drinks, the more caught up he gets, the more caught up he gets, the more he drinks. Believe me Sarah, I would have stopped him if I'd known."

"He does these…_piranha-class hacks_ often?"

Morgan shrugged. "More often than's good for him, but not as often as he'd like. Carmichael Industries hasn't been doing so well lately."

"Really? Chuck hasn't mentioned it."

"He wouldn't, would he?" Morgan opened the door for her to sit. "You have enough on your plate."

She plopped down on the seat and stared down at her 'plate', more like a soup bowl, as Morgan went around to the driver's side. Her baby. _Their_ baby. Flesh of their flesh, soul of their souls. At least, she hoped so. If it was 'memories of their memories' the kid was gonna come up a little short on the mother's side.

Morgan sat, noticing her distraction. "Baby okay?"

You'd almost think he was the father. "Yes, just fine."

He nodded. "Good." He started the car.

And for him it was, she noted enviously. _"I just know who to believe, is all."_ He believed her. If she said it was good, it was. He believes us, but who do _we_ believe? Can a spy really believe anybody?

She believed in Chuck, like her spy-self got turned off when he was around. Her dream was right, her life was written in his soul, and she worked so hard to be like the woman she saw there. She wanted that life, but now she saw that she was being selfish. She was running a race that she and Chuck had already run, and now he was there at the finish line, waiting for her to catch up. Waiting. For her.

She hated that. How ironic was it that, after doing all she could to banish the ghost of Sarah B., she should now curse herself for not being Sarah Bartowski _enough_?

_Agent Walker, what is your duty?_

_My loyalty is to my husband._ A husband who was apparently self-destructing, waiting for her. How is that loyalty, or duty, or faith?

She knew what she had to do.

* * *

><p>She awoke in Castle, lying on a bench. When she pressed the button, the door moved but terribly slowly, and she yanked it back into its slot. The halls were dark, neither lights nor sounds to give her a direction. The cell block seemed much longer as she ran through it, but eventually she reached the end, and another slow door. This time she cut herself pulling it open.<p>

The conference room was dark, the folder and all the files lying on the desk, abandoned. She reached for them, scattered them in the gloom, searching for the one she wanted by touch as much as anything. There it was, cold to her fingers, blacker than the blackness around her, dread on paper.

Sarah Walker feared nothing. "General Beckman."

Beckman appeared on the monitor. "Agent Walker. Sarah. Are you sure you want to do this?"

"What I want has nothing to do with it." _Chuck needs his wife._ "I need to know."

Beckman sighed. "As you wish." She pulled a file close to her on the desk, pulled out a piece of paper, and handed it to Sarah. The screen went out, leaving the room darker somehow than before.

Sarah stared at the paper, able to see the one word on it with perfect clarity. The delicate script was written in lines of fire, like the letters inside the Ring in that movie Chuck liked so much. The handwriting was hers, but even as she recognized it she understood the meaning of the word she'd written.

Barstow.

She'd buried that memory herself. _Why?_ In her hands, the lines of fire flared and burned the paper to ash. Glittering sparks settled all over the table.

The pictures started to glow.


	8. Burn After Reading

**A/N **Set after S5E13, Chuck vs. the Goodbye. Sarah's memories of her years with Chuck may be gone (or at least temporarily misplaced), but her memories of the time before that aren't what they used to be either. A conclusion of sorts.

* * *

><p>Stuff you need to know, or may have just forgotten:<p>

_Sarah stared at the paper, able to see the one word on it with perfect clarity. The delicate script was written in lines of fire, like the letters inside the Ring in that movie Chuck liked so much. The handwriting was hers, but even as she recognized it she understood the meaning of the word she'd written. _

_Barstow._

_She'd buried that memory herself. _Why?_ In her hands, the lines of fire flared and burned the paper to ash. Glittering sparks settled all over the table._

_The pictures started to glow. _

* * *

><p>The temptation to flee was strong, but Sarah resisted. This was about Chuck, not her, and she would live or die for him. The image of the Wienerlicious brightened to life, dimension, depth.<p>

_- She stared at the stacks of cups, ready and waiting. Waiting for him to come, hoping-_

The scene ended there, a slice of a moment, a sliver of an emotion. Anticipation, a sensation of watchful waiting sliced through her like a diamond blade. She turned away, and the feeling stopped. Another image caught at her attention.

_-She stared at the phone as she dialed, confused, uncertain, even mildly physically-_

She could swear she felt the beating of her heart. Sex? What did the phone have to do with it? She shook her head automatically, and the emotions were lost. The next image was of a beach.

_-"Trust me."-_

Such sincerity. Even she trusted her, and she didn't trust anybody.

_-This house is mine.- _Determination.

_-Irene Demova.-_ Amazement.

Image after image, scene after scene, pierced by emotions she knew instantly, and just as quickly lost. She knew more of what she had once been, but without context none of it stayed. She may as well have been reading another woman's diary, in a sense she was. She felt warm in Castle's cold air, but that wasn't why she was sweating.

Eventually she could delay no longer.

The blackness that had obscured the last image had crumbled to dust, although it still obscured the light glowing from beneath. She just had to…brush it off. She raised her hand and–

She bent and blew gently, unwilling to touch the thing.

_-A room. A bed. A woman and a man, naked and coupling and the woman was-_

Sarah's body went from zero to sixty in no time at all. Her…her…the woman was…her, and the man, the man…Chuck was…Oh God, he was…so perfect, waited so long…

She exploded in memory, she exploded in dream.

_Waking in Barstow, side by side. Passionate kisses, desperate need. Chuck's look of lust going into the bathroom, his look of horror coming out. Furious with Morgan, but…no need. Long-term, undercover, the CIA had protected her, they were safe. No obstacles, no clothing, no delay._

Sarah collapsed over the table, convulsing in pleasure. Unable to move her head, she looked over the array of images from her past.

_- She stared at the stacks of cups, ready and waiting. Waiting for Chuck to come, hoping he would stay and talk to her, smile at her, such a beautiful smile-_

_-She stared at the phone as she dialed, confused, uncertain, even mildly physically aroused. Wouldn't mind using her seduction training on Chuck. Such a handsome man, he knew his tech like any spy, but no spy would help that girl like that. -_

_-"Trust me." I will keep you safe, Chuck, nothing will ever harm you.-_

_-This house is mine. Chuck is mine. Everything I've ever wanted is mine.-_

_-Irene Demova. A computer virus, and he saved us with it. Not the intersect, just Chuck being Chuck-_

Light played across the chamber, memories blazed across her mind, emotions seared her very soul, searching for channels that were no more. She had forgotten how to feel this strongly. Only Sarah Bartowski had ever learned, and she was not Sarah Bartowski.

This was a mistake. She had to get away, and struggled to rise.

Her hand landed in the dust and she recoiled. _Rage! Betrayal! Soul deep hatred stabbed through the vulnerable place he had made over her heart._

The Barstow image burst into flames. The other images followed suit. The explosion caught her before she could reach the door.

* * *

><p>Sarah sat up in her bed, shouting wordlessly.<p>

Something fell to the floor outside, and stocking feet raced towards her bedroom. She seized a knife from her nightstand just as the door flew open. "Sarah!" said Morgan. "What–?"

Sarah didn't see Morgan, didn't see her friend. Now at this moment, he was nothing more than an intruder, an adjunct of Chuck himself. _Traitor!_

The knife thunked into the door just above Morgan's hand. He stared at it in horror, looked back at the woman creeping towards him on his friend's bed. She wasn't Sarah, didn't look anything like her, not now. "Run away! Run away!"

She who had been Sarah heard the front door slam, heard Morgan's shouts diminish with distance, and slumped over on the bed. The threat was gone, so the wounded animal stayed in her burrow and writhed in torment, unable to lick her wounds.

* * *

><p>"CHUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!" Morgan's long scream as he raced down the length of Castle's access tunnel woke Chuck barely in time, but it didn't prepare him for the miniature missile that leaped at him through the doorway of his ops center. "Chuck! You gotta do something! Sarah's lost her mind, she threw a knife at me and it's sticking in your bedroom door and if you want it out you're gonna have to do it yourself 'cause I'm not going back in there!"<p>

Chuck sat back and thought a little bit while Morgan panted for breath after his long rant. "Morgan, buddy, can you do me a favor and pretend like I don't have any idea what you're talking about, and start from the beginning?"

Morgan nodded, gulping air. "Sarah…woke up early…wanted to see you…"

"She came here, to Castle?"

Morgan nodded. "Made me drive her…said you were sleeping, so I took her home again. She went straight to bed, so I went back to playing Call of Duty. A little while later, I don't remember what level I was on, I heard her screaming–"

"Screaming?" Chuck threw off the light blanket he couldn't remember putting on. "Why?"

"Don't know. I went in to find out and she threw a knife at me! And no, I wasn't about to ask why because she was seriously scary. You know those vampires creeping around the basement at the end of Salem's Lot? Way scarier than them!"

Chuck's face settled along unhappy lines. "Morgan. Do me a favor."

"Sure, Chuck. Whatever you want."

"Dig out my body armor from storage while I get my shoes on."

* * *

><p>The red front door creaked open slowly. "Sarah? Honey?" Chuck made sure his empty hands were in view at all times. Nothing. Just the TV, blaring sound effects from Morgan's game too loud as usual. He turned it off. "Sweetie?"<p>

Silence.

He walked slowly and steadily over to his bedroom, eyeing the knife still stuck in the door. Good thing Morgan wasn't taller. It was in there deep, too, she must have thrown it full force. Bracing his arm against the door he pulled the blade out of the wood.

Something hit him in the back, bouncing him face first off the closed door, and he dropped the knife. "You treacherous bastard!"

Chuck moved to turn around, offer her an array of choicer targets for her obvious rage. Can't vent if you have nothing to vent on and no place to vent to. She grabbed his arm and twisted it up and around. This was gonna hurt.

"I _trusted_ you! I opened up to you!" She flung him against the opposite wall with ridiculous ease. "I made love for the first time in my life! With you!" Grab and toss against the door. "And you LEFT ME!"

Morgan heard her rage, her anguish, sitting in the car outside.

Chuck stood against the door, not raising a hand against her, not defending himself in any way. That's what the body armor was for. "Prague," he said, giving her a name for her pain, something to handle it by, even if it might just be putting the well-being of the city and its inhabitants at risk right now.

"Prague!" The power of her punch matched the venom in her voice, and the much-abused door gave up. Chuck and Sarah both fell to the floor, him from the impact, her from the pain in her fingers, several bones broken against his jaw.

Chuck looked up at his wife, kneeling in the doorway, crying, cradling her hand and its swollen, clearly broken fingers. "Are you–?"

Her throat hurt. "Shut up." She couldn't look at him, couldn't hear him. His mere presence burned her.

"Sarah, please, let me help–"

The sound of his voice danced like fire across her inflamed emotions. "You can't help me." Fiat. Declaration. Acceptance. She started to cry. _Go away, please go away._

He carefully got to his feet, slowly edged around her body blocking the doorway, glad for once he was so tall. He walked a few feet down the hall and stopped, turned back. She hadn't moved. Several times he tried to speak, but nothing good, useful, or true came to or out of his lips.

"I'll-I'll send Morgan."

She simply nodded, crying. _Go away, please go away._ Her gratitude, when the door quietly closed behind him, was overwhelming, and she began to sob, alone in the hall.

Her fingers didn't hurt. The swelling had seen to that.

Prague didn't hurt either. Prague was dust, ancient history. She wasn't crying for Prague but for the love that made Prague possible.

That love hurt, glowing embers in the dark, scattered, burning coals. She couldn't deal with it, couldn't use it.

Couldn't stop feeling it.

* * *

><p><strong>AN **Next chapter will be (should be) the end, connecting this story with Chuck vs. The Epilog, only from Sarah's point of view.


	9. System Failure

**A/N **Set after S5E13, Chuck vs. the Goodbye. Sarah's memories of her years with Chuck may be gone (or at least temporarily misplaced), but her memories of the time before that aren't what they used to be either. The beginning of the end, the darkness that comes before the dawn.

* * *

><p>Sarah Walker stood and waited for Morgan to open the door, the fingers of her right hand taped together, no longer available for even that simple chore. She sat and he closed it for her as well, and she buckled herself awkwardly as he went to the driver's side. As he settled himself, she murmured, "I'm sorry about the knife."<p>

He paused in remembered terror, didn't look at her hand. "It's all right," he said, turning the key. "You weren't yourself there for a bit, that's what Chuck says, although if there get to be any more of you we're gonna need scorecards soon. Let me know if Planet Sarah or World War Sarah show up, will you?"

His words were sharp, and better aimed than her knife had been. Or maybe not aimed at all, just Morgan being Morgan, with his unwitting gift for getting to the heart. _Which of us would you believe?_

Sarah wasn't sure herself. She'd gotten back too much, even though it wasn't enough, and she couldn't tell what she'd made of herself. Was she one, was she three, more than that? She looked at her fingers. No knife throwing in her immediate future, probably the only reason Morgan dared get near her now. She sighed in dismay.

At least he still had Chuck to believe in. The one. The only.

"Come on, let's get you home."

* * *

><p>Strangely, Morgan left the motor running, and didn't try to follow once he'd closed the car door behind her. "You're not coming?"<p>

He looked down, embarrassed. "I'm gonna be going over to our place for a while. Alex wants me to be with her."

_And away from me._ Junior Sarah karate instructor girlfriend protecting her nerd boyfriend from his homicidal maimed ninja assassin ex…friend. She nodded. "Okay, then. Thanks for the lift." She took a step away, then stopped and looked back. "I'm sorry about the knife."

"You said that already."

"That one's for her."

* * *

><p>Sinister organ music blared out as she opened the door. "Chuck?"<p>

He jerked up off the couch, fumbling with the remote to turn off the TV, mute the sound, blow it up, anything. Finally the sound dropped. "Wow that was…badly timed." He looked at her hand. "Really badly."

She'd blocked the pain when the doctor taped her hand. She blocked it again now. She looked at the monstrous figure on the screen. _Why so silent, good monsieurs? _"Theater?" _Did you think that I had left you for good? Have you missed me-?_

Chuck stopped the disc. Shut off the DVD player. And the TV. "Uh, Phantom of the Opera, 25th anniversary performa...you, know, it doesn't really matter. How are—is your hand?"

She held up her bandage-wrapped claw, hid herself behind it. "About what you'd expect. It was a clean break, at least. Your jaw makes a powerful shield."

"Sarah—"

"Chuck, I didn't tell them that, of course."

"I'm so sorry—"

"For what? Prague? Don't be. It's not your fault that your Sarah kept some things so secret even she—"

Chuck held up a hand, stopping her. "Please don't ever say that again. _You're_…my Sarah."

She froze. Pain was easy to block. _This_ was less so, burning coals in the back of her mind, flaring with every word he uttered, every breath he took in her presence. Every breath she took in his.

_Go away, please go away. _

_She_ wasn't even her own Sarah, but she knew it would be useless to argue, so she smiled instead. "Can you do me a favor?"

"Of course." She pulled some papers from her pocket. "Prescriptions? I'll go take care of them right now."

Chuck got back to find Sarah curled up on the couch asleep, his DVD playing unwatched, but hopefully not unheard. _Christine, I lo-o-ove you. _He shut it off a second time, put the bag of pills on the table, and scooped her up, carrying her off to the bedroom to finally complete her nap.

* * *

><p><span>About a month later (or so)<span>

Sarah lay on her bed, waiting out the early morning gymnastics session and kickline practice in her belly, as usual. She stroked her skin, wondering for the millionth time what it must be like in there. A snug fit, apparently. _Soon. Soon._

The kid made it hard to maintain her composure, but at least she, or he, kept it brief. Sarah only shed a few tears, absorbed by her pillow and gone before Chu—her husband could notice them. He would wonder, he would care, he would drive her insane with his presence. Can't have that. She must be calm, she must be serene, she must give him no reason to inflict his compassion on her.

Softly she sang one of her new favorite songs under her breath. "Masquerade, paper faces on parade. Masquerade, hide your face so the world will never find you." Softly, softly. Wouldn't do for her husband to hear now.

She treated her husband more like an asset now than she ever had when he was an asset. He never noticed, which was as it should have been. Being as pregnant as she was helped, a problematic defense (evidence the kickline) but a defense nonetheless. It kept Chu—her husband distant at night, although her traitor body was always spooned next to him in the morning.

This morning.

_God, I wish he was here, now._ The thought, unwelcome in its honesty, was its own punishment, invoking as it did a half dozen bright, disconnected moments, sandpaper reminders on the raw wounds of all she'd lost. Quickly she buried her face in her pillow, hid her pain outside, as she hid it inside. _Nothing. Nothing. I wish for nothing!_

Eventually, her wish was granted.

She lay there for a few minutes after the kicking and screaming stopped, absently stroking her skin. Just as she was about to rise and dare the day, the front door slammed open and then shut again. Morgan had arrived.

"Chuck, I got that new bottle of chardonnay you wanted!"

Chardonnay. Another piranha-class hack, for General Beckman this time, if her memory was to be trusted. She liked working for the General, as much as she liked anything about this…mercenary business of her husband's. It at least looked like duty to country. Her other motivations were beginning to flag. _God, how much faith is enough?_

The only answer she got was Morgan, talking about funnels.

She stroked her belly one last time, waiting for them to leave. _Soon, soon._

* * *

><p>She sat in the living room, her territory now that her husband had gone off to make the world safe for whatever he made the world safe for, taking Morgan and his giant economy size bottle with them. She didn't have to work but she kept herself busy around the house, a snug enough womb for someone her size, and without the kicking. That was too hard on the bedroom doors.<p>

She flexed her fingers, mostly healed but still a bit sore. Too soon to play any Call of Duty. Maybe some Duck Hunt, something to keep the reflexes in shape.

Someone was outside.

Someone was making it painfully obvious that they were outside. Morgan, being his usual irritating self. She'd only tried to kill him the once, but he never let her live it down. He had to have come with some kind of bad news, otherwise he'd be in Castle keeping Chu—her husband company. She arranged her face into some mostly-neutral expression and waited for him to reveal himself.

* * *

><p>She decided to be angry. Anger was safe. She could have chosen to be satisfied that they had done their duty to country after all. She could have been amused at Morgan's pathetic attempt to keep the secret from her, that their information came from the Intersect and so they would not even get paid. But satisfaction and amusement led straight to Barstow and (<em>No! No! We will <em>not_ think about Barstow!)_ she could not allow herself to think about…that place. Anger was a reasonable scenario.

_Hmmm. Should we or should we not have sex tonight?_ She'd planned to, but now she had to reconsider. What would a handler do? Better yet, what would Roan Montgomery do? God she was tired. Seduction School was never this hard.

* * *

><p>She decided not to. He didn't seem to mind.<p>

* * *

><p>The doorbell rang the next day, bright and early, but still after kickline practice. Perfect timing. "I've got it, sweetie. You're not even dressed yet." The meet had been scheduled, but a good handler takes nothing for granted. She didn't put the gun away until she'd verified that it was indeed her husband's sister outside. "Ellie!"<p>

Of course Chuck had to butt in but for once this caused no discomfort, his attention purely on his real family. Sarah had other things in mind.

Ellie waited until they got into the bedroom to turn on her, keeping her voice low and reasonable for Chuck's benefit, even through the door in another room. "All right, Sarah, what's up with that dog and pony show out there just now?"

"Ellie, can I count on doctor-patient privilege?"

The conflict was plain on Ellie's face, but she had to know. "Yes."

Sarah nodded. "As soon as this baby is born, I'll be leaving Chuck forever."

Ellie started to cry, but her voice stayed remarkably level. "Why?"

"Can I expect to get any more of my memories back?"

Ellie shook her head. "Have you gotten any more since we left?"

"Just one, and it's made my life a hell." Sarah started to pace. "All my other memories are fragments, like someone broke my life apart and took all the big stuff. But this one memory was buried by _me_, and I have the whole thing, and it's killing me."

"Why…did you bury it?"

Sarah stared over Ellie's shoulder someplace. "Once upon a time, there were two spies. They loved each other, and fled their duty to make it happen. They succeeded."

"Why would that memory be buried? It sounds nice enough."

"Later, the man betrayed the woman. He was her first, and she didn't take it well." Sarah flexed her fingers absently.

Ellie'd heard of the episode from other sources, and knew exactly what 'not well' entailed. The true or false of it was not her concern right now. "How is this one apparently good memory killing you?"

"I can't think about it. I can't think about any of them, they all hurt together." Sarah started to break down. "I can't even say my husband's name!"

"Oh, sweetie!" Ellie went to embrace her sister-in-law, and Sarah buried her sobs in her shoulder.

"He's everything to me and I can't look at him, or think about him. It's like being whipped with shards of burning glass!"

Ellie held on firmly, afraid Sarah would shake herself apart. "Honey, you can't run from these. They're your own memories."

"I know that," said Sarah wearily.

Ellie immediately suspected something. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to put this to good use, go and do something no other agent has the balls to do, like…like go to Thailand and start killing warlords until one of them kills me first. Something."

Ellie stared Sarah in the face. "That would destroy Chuck, baby or not."

"That's why I called you. To be there for him when I'm gone. I need you to be there for Chuck." She said his name deliberately, on purpose, and paid the price, falling in a heap at Ellie's feet.

Ellie was a doctor, not as strong as a nurse but stronger than she looked. "C'mon you, into bed. Time for me to start taking care of both of you."


	10. Safe Mode

**A/N **Set after S5E13, Chuck vs. the Goodbye. Sarah's memories of her years with Chuck may be gone (or at least temporarily misplaced), but her memories of the time before that aren't what they used to be either. In which we find that Morgan is right about many things, including the need for a scorecard!

I would like to thank a number of people who have beta-read some or all of these stories: Anti-Kryptonite, BDaddyDL, Michael66, and bty2474, for seeing all the stuff that I tried to put in here.

* * *

><p>Sarah W. woke, in utter stillness. Something was wrong. Something had to be wrong, she couldn't swing a dead cat without hitting something that was wrong.<p>

Nothing came to mind, which bothered her. She moved the sheet aside, and discovered that her hand was sore. _Well, that's a start._ Who would have tucked her up? Not an enemy, certainly, but if it was a friend where were they? No one was in the room, no sounds penetrated the door.

She opened it, and her gaze was immediately drawn to the knife wound at eye level. It looked like one of hers, but she couldn't remember throwing it. The guest bedroom door was open, and she spotted Ellie's suitcase. _Ah!_ Bedroom tuck-up mystery solved.

So where was Ellie? Why was she here?

She went to her computer, logged on in secure mode. Nothing recorded. That alone was suspicious, but then she went back to her bedroom and found the bug Chuck had no doubt removed from his shirt. He really had to stop doing that, how cold she protect him? Nothing showed up on her scanner, either, and she frowned. _Interesting. _

The only thing that could hide his signal from her was Castle.

* * *

><p>Hours later her scanner beeped. They were finally on the move! More than once she'd been tempted to call in, but that was something a handler would do, not a wife. Instead she tried out her new chair (<em>Nice!<em>), complained to no one about the inadequate state of the mission logs, studied the phone logs and video records, fretted about their drawn-down surveillance capabilities, and waited. She didn't make dinner. Tonight was Chuck's night, and that was something a wife would remember.

* * *

><p>"Hey!" she looked past him, confused. "Where's Ellie?" With a quick hug, she smoothly reattached her bug to the waistband of his pants.<p>

"Castle," Chuck said. "Emergency conference call."

_All day? _"Oh. Will she be home for dinner?"

"I hope so. Chicken Pepperoni good for tonight?"

_Better than starving._ She smiled. "Sure."

* * *

><p>An hour later, Sarah W. knew something was up. Not by what they said, but by what they didn't say. No way those two in a confined space wouldn't talk themselves to death, but nothing came from the bug. The only way to prevent that, short of taking it off, which she knew he hadn't, was by using a frequency scrambler. Any bad guy using one would have attacked by now. That left friendly action. Why would Ellie of all people have a frequency scrambler?<p>

In a rented car.

* * *

><p>Sarah W. was impressed. Chuck's tradecraft was beautiful to behold. She could practically run down the checklist, but every item on it had been given a typical 'Chuck' twist that made it almost impossible to tell it was fake. Well, not 'fake' fake, just…a real, normal event co-opted for other purposes. The dinner was perfectly smooth, brother, wife, and sister all having an amiable dinner conversation about anything. No subtle messages being passed, no timetable for different events. Clearly just a waiting game underneath. The phone call from Morgan was completely untimed, the excuse plausible (well, for Chuck and Morgan it was plausible), and the shill irresistible. After all, she'd apparently called Ellie herself, how could she not want to spend some 'girl time' alone with her?<p>

Answer time, maybe, but not girl time. Chit-chat in the kitchen, glasses of wine in the den. Give Chuck time to get established. _I'll show you tradecraft._

"I'm glad to see you looking so much better, Sarah. When you collapsed this morning I didn't know what to think. Do you think we could run some tests sometime?"

Sarah W. smiled. "You think I should have my head examined?"

"Well, neurologically, not psychiatrically, but yes," said Ellie, ever serious in matters of medicine. "Anything that would drive you into the sorts of behaviors you mentioned this morning should leave traces, and definitely should be addressed right away."

_Behaviors?_ Sarah W. shifted a bit, considering her words. "No time like the present, and you're the only one with clearance, anyway. Do you have a professional opinion about my…behavior?"

"The distress and suicidal thinking can both be traced back to the memories you recovered, of course."

Sarah W. tensed at the word 'suicidal' but Ellie didn't notice. "What concerns me is that the distress should be so great that you passed out like that. If a neurological cause can't be found then yes, a visit to a company psychiatrist is probably in order."

_Company?_ Sarah W. drank some more of her wine, nodding thoughtfully. "Would you like some more wine?"

Ellie smiled. "A little bit, maybe."

On the way to the kitchen for the bottle Sarah W. pressed a key combination into her laptop, initiating a lockdown sequence for the house. Bottle in hand she returned to the den and topped off her guest's glass. "Ellie, there is one other question I have to ask."

"Shoot."

"Why are you here?"

* * *

><p>Alex answered the door.<p>

Sarah smiled brightly, not releasing Ellie's wrist. "Hi, Alex. We're looking for Chuck. Is he around?"

Alex shifted her balance slightly. "I'm not gonna let you hurt Morgan."

Sarah assessed the marginal threat Alex represented and dismissed it automatically. "Good. I'm not here to hurt Morgan, so we're good." She was there to find Chuck. If hurting Morgan became necessary to that goal they would be less good. "Where's Chuck?"

Alex stepped back. "Morgan. Spider Woman's here to talk to you."

By the time Sarah pushed Ellie around the corner into the living room, Alex was firmly planted in front of Morgan, and he had a tranq pistol ready to go. Sarah nodded towards the gun. "That's a mistake."

Morgan caved, putting the gun on the table, next to a half-full glass of lemonade.

Sarah marched Ellie over to their side of the room and exchanged her for the pistol. And the glass. "Thanks." She took a sip. "By the way, your real mistake was not shooting Ellie. You could probably have taken me out before I got a chance to let go of her."

"Chuck's not here."

"I know that," said Sarah, dragging up a chair to sit in. "The tracker in his shoe puts him in a little town called Barstow. What's in Barstow, Morgan?"

"What do you mean, what's in Barstow? There's a motel room there with your name written all over it! Well, yours and Chuck's, but it's your handwriting."

Ellie looked at Sarah, but Sarah didn't notice. "That wasn't in any of the mission logs."

"It wouldn't be, would it? You were completely off the reservation by that point, chasing after Chuck's father and trying to make him one in the process. Fortunately Casey was there to whitewash everything and make it look like some part of your diabolical master plan."

"_My_ plan? I don't even remember it!"

Ellie tilted her head. "Why would you? You aren't really Sarah, are you?"

* * *

><p>Morgan and Alex stopped looking at Sarah funny, and started looking at Ellie funny. "What are you talking about? Of course that's Sarah!"<p>

Ellie sat down. "No, Morgan, it's not. It's not all of her. It's not even a very big piece."

"A big piece of what?" asked Alex, pulling Morgan down to sit next to her.

"Sarah," said Ellie, waving at their now-silent captor. "She's always described herself as broken shards of glass. This is one of those shards, and a very protective one too. Her only purpose is to defend Chuck. That's why she's here."

"Chuck's in danger? From what?"

Ellie knew what, but doctor-patient confidentiality prevented her telling Morgan. Sarah, the bigger piece of her, was going to get herself killed. That would hurt Chuck, so it couldn't be allowed to happen. "She's been trying to heal herself since Quinn did whatever he did to erase her memories. It hasn't been working. Maybe it even made things worse."

"Ellie, what's Chuck in danger from? All the bad guys are gone, nobody even knows he has the Intersect back again, John and Gertrude are away on missions half the time. The most dangerous thing in three counties is…Sarah…"

"That certainly sounds like 'worse' to me," commented Alex.

"Sarah's gonna hurt Chuck? Are you _insane_?"

Ellie sighed. "No, but she is. Unstable, at the very least. This fragment of Sarah came out to deal with the issue. She won't let anything hurt Chuck, including herself." Which could be bad, a rational version would be so much better to have right now. _How to get one?_

Alex frowned. "Like MPD?"

"I _knew_ we were gonna need scorecards!"

Ellie smiled. "Not MPD. These are all Sarah, different parts of her. Morgan, you know the most about their missions, tell me about Barstow."

He shrugged. "Sure, not much to tell. This evil group was holding your father there, but the CIA—"

"Not the mission part, Morgan. The motel room."

He turned bright red. "She's not gonna kill me, is she?"

Ellie raised her eyebrows. "It's not going to hurt Chuck, is it?"

"They were there, alone, in a bed together, without cameras for the first time in two years of pretending to live together when all they wanted was to live together, and I took Chuck's only condom! What do you think?"

Sarah started to breathe heavily.

Ellie noticed. _That memory really does color everything about her. _"She made it sound like they did the deed anyway."

"Yeah, well, she's a female long-term undercover agent on a seduction assignment. The CIA has long-term birth control for situations like that." He sighed. "He was a changed man after that, I can only imagine how intense it must have been. Like Terminator or Highlander intense! I haven't been able to watch those movies ever since."

Ellie and Alex shared a smirk while Morgan hunched over, oblivious.

He sighed. "Barstow was such a disaster for them."

Sarah sat up straighter. Ellie asked, "Why do you say that?"

"Well think about it, dude. I mean, before Barstow he was just in love with her, you know, worship-her-from-afar in love with her. After Barstow he had to go to try to earn what she'd already gladly given him."

Ellie nodded. "He wanted to be worthy of her."

"Yeah, pretty stupid, huh?"

"No, just Chuck all over." And the new Intersect just made it worse. _Introducing new elements, or just concentrating what was already there? _She filed the thought for future research.

"He loved me," whispered Sarah. "He left me."

"He did not, you left him!"

Sarah blinked.

"Morgan, don't antagonize the homicidal ninja robot."

"Don't worry, Alex, I'm not nearly the threat to Chuck that she is. Yeah, you, robot Spider Lady! Chuck the asset goes to Prague for training to be an agent, and you know all the crap that's involved being an agent, but did you stand by him? Did you support him? No, you bailed. He wanted to be worthy of you when all along it was you who wasn't worthy of him! Couldn't take the heat, could you, Sarah?"

Tears started to stream down Sarah's face.

"Morgan, she can't answer you," said Ellie.

"I'm not worthy," whispered Sarah.

"I stand corrected. Thank you, Morgan. Not the way I would have done it but I can't argue with the results. You back with us, Sarah?" Even if she was, which one was she?

Sarah sniffed. "I'm not worthy."

"Maybe not then, or now. But you became so. He brought out the best in you, as you did in him."

Sarah wiped her eyes. "I want to be that again."

"And you will, I promise you. You just have to have some faith."

"I tried. It didn't work."

_A bit of patience wouldn't hurt either. _Ellie smiled. "That's not the way it works, sweetie. Faith isn't a tool, or a technique."

"Have, or have not," said Morgan in a curious guttural growl. "There is no—"

"Morgan!"

"Sorry." Morgan rubbed his throat. "Can I have that lemonade, if you're not gonna drink it? Yoda always gives me a sore throat."

Sarah leaned forward to give him the glass when they all heard the door open, heard Chuck's voice call out, "Morgan, we're back."

Sarah's face froze, her whole body, and Ellie could see the pain in her every non-movement. They all sat up, taking her grim expression for something it was not. She was trying hard to keep from screaming, or crying, or both. "We're in here, sweetie."

* * *

><p>It's not paranoia when there really <em>is<em> a conspiracy, and the chief conspirators were standing right in front of her. They wanted to help her, they all did, and she should have been grateful but the only shield she could raise in time was anger. The first weapon in the handler's arsenal. Save the carrots for later.

Not that Chuck reacted at all as the book said he should, what a surprise that was. He should have played the gratitude card, he couldn't have known it wouldn't work. But no. instead the gallant fool provoked her to even greater anger.

"Do you love me so little?"

She changed her punch to a slap just in time, not wanting any more broken fingers, but a slap with all the power of Barstow behind it is still a formidable thing. It felt so good, it was horrible that it felt so good, and now she couldn't stop herself shouting a month's worth of pain into his face. When he finally offered to restore the memories she lacked, all she could see was a field of coals where now she had scattered sparks. She would burn in that, his lust for the woman she had been would destroy the woman she was!

"What are you afraid of?"

_Afraid?_ Easy for you to say! Except that…this was Gertrude. And John. John letting Gertrude take his hand and hold it in full view of God and all! She turned her head away, but Alex was there, holding Morgan's hand herself, strength of a different kind. Before her stood Chuck and Ellie, bottomless wells. Faith and patience, side by side.

"Sarah," said Ellie, "It's not you _or_ her. She won't overwrite you. It'll be you _and_ her."

Her heart broke, and she cried out with pain both inner and outer as her knees impacted the floor. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" She didn't even notice when Chuck took her in his arms. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"Shhh, it'll be all right."

"I do love you, I do, but I don't know how. I'm so sorry I'm not the woman you married—"

"Hey, don't talk like that. Of course you are. I fell in love with Sarah Walker, I married Sarah Walker. In fact, I think I'm pretty lucky. I got to meet you twice, fall in love with you twice, and get you to fall in love with me twice. What other man can say the same?"

* * *

><p>The next day was a torture for both Chuck and Sarah, as they waited for Ellie to prepare the code for the suppressor. Now that Chuck knew what his presence did, he kept his distance. Sarah occupied her time trying to fill out a scorecard for Morgan, but when she came up with at least five different personas she decided she didn't really want to know.<p>

Nothing to do but wait.

* * *

><p>Sarah didn't know what to expect from the suppressor. Both Chuck and Morgan had experienced it first hand, and they gave different accounts.<p>

She'd seen this light before, blazing across her mind, searing her very soul. Flames danced on her skin even through the black leather of her favorite suit, pulsing through her veins. It felt strangely…sluggish.

At the table everyone sat completely still, their eyes focused on—

"Where do you think you're going?"

The young girl in the Wienerlicious costume stopped, and gawked at her, before looking down at her own ridiculous figure. If they wanted her to look foolish they'd succeeded. Everyone would dismiss her out of hand.

"He didn't." Sarah knew what was coming next, and let it pass when it came. And the next. She pushed the young woman down—

Her hand pulsed, her blood cooled, the pent up heat of its single, isolated moments lost in the flow of all the moments before and after. It felt so good, it was wonderful that it felt so good. When she kicked the kneeling girl she seemed…firmer, more solid, and the kick did little more than send her sprawling.

When she rose, she stood proud in orange and white, no longer playing the fool. She looked…better. Let's see if she fights better. She swung.

"He didn't care what I looked like." The woman in the orange tank-top blocked the strike—

Her hand pulsed, her blood cooled. So good, two sides of a zipper becoming one as it slowly closed, tic…tic…tic. The next strike was slower, the block faster, Sarah's blood cooler.

Oh my, she was positively radiant, and that red gown…!

"I didn't dress up for him!"

Of course not, she thought as grabbed the fabric and swung, what man would want to see her dressed like that? Can't they see she was just doing her job?

A black-clad figure launched itself out of the darkness. "Yes, he was my responsibility! He was my job!"—

Sarah's body pulsed, the blood cooled, more puzzle pieces finding their places, completeness on both sides. The black-clad figure sped up as Sarah slowed, her strikes more powerful as Sarah's grew weaker. Her opponent was taking her job, her life…

Heart and head pulsed, the blood cooled.

"Yes, he is my life! No!"

"Yes," she said in utter relief, no longer burning. The fire had found its proper channels at last, Sarah practically glowing in her white wedding gown. She couldn't fight in that.

_I don't need to._

_Weakness._ She was panting with it, but she would not stop.

_Strength. Truth. Me._ Sarah Bartowski stripped her earlier self of its last defense.

Sarah Walker smiled. _I yield._

_I accept._ Sarah Bartowsli pulled herself in tight for a final embrace…

* * *

><p>Sarah slammed back into her chair, gasping and choking. Ellie was already at her side and Chuck wasn't far behind. "Sarah!"<p>

Her name, his voice, without pain. "Chuck!" She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his neck, his hair, breathing in the scent of him for the first time in…months. Her life. He kept her alive, every day, his soul held the truth of who she was. Cacophony reigned but she tuned it all out until she heard an imperious she couldn't ignore.

"Agent Walker!"

Not anymore. Never again. "Agent Walker-Bartowski, General."

* * *

><p>Ellie put away her implements, still smiling. Always smiling. "Physically fit, but you have make an appointment with your obstetrician. Don't forget."<p>

Sarah saluted. "Oui, mon capitanette." Ellie rolled her eyes. "Uh, I'm sorry. About last night."

"That's all right, Sarah. I know it has to feel like it was you but it really wasn't. And I can't fault your motives." She met Chuck's questioning gaze. "She twigged to the fact that I was CIA after dinner. Locked down the house, disabled my phone, and interrogated me about why I was there. I tried to stall her, but the second she heard about your Intersect problem she went into Chuck-Protector mode and dragged me off to Morgan's."

Chuck hugged his wife. "My little troglodyte. I bet you looked so cute in your bearskin…"

Sarah smiled up at him. "Og save. Well, Og-ette save."

Ellie turned away. Some byplay is only cute to the people involved, and she wasn't involved. "Oh, yes, one last thing. Chuck, don't look. Sarah, do you know what this is? Chuck took a look at it earlier and said it made him flash on nothing."

"Quinn forced me to flash with these. I think this one was for a memory of his own, probably something trivial. He'd flash on it and then test his memory. If he couldn't remember—"

Ellie nodded. "Out it comes. Sounds reasonable, I'll check that out. Okay, Chuck, you can look now. I've got to go…talk to the General."

Chuck moved in close as Ellie left, stared at his wife's smile. "So, how are you feeling?"

"What, since Ellie asked me, five minutes ago?"

"You're still smiling."

"It still doesn't hurt."

He lost his smile for a second. "I think I know what you're going through, when I put the Governor on for the first time."

She stopped smiling too. "You have no idea how I feel. I almost killed you, Chuck. Many times over. And Ellie. And Morgan."

"But you didn't. I have to wonder about the Intersect, all the things it _can't_ do. Does it make you wonder about souls?"

"Not at all." She was looking at herself in his right now, trying to be the woman he had written there. "I'm kind of interested in faith, though."

He held his fingers up, pinching air. "And maybe patience, just a little bit?"

"Eh, later for that." They both smiled.

He kissed her gently. "I'm so glad we didn't fail."

"What would you have done if we had?"

"To be honest I was sorta looking forward to showing you all my favorite movies, I just would have told you they were yours. 'The Tall Blonde Man with One Black Shoe'. 'The Librarian'. But not the prequel trilogy. Some things are just beyond the pale."

She sniffed against his shoulder. "You're such a nerd." She gripped his hand. "My nerd."

He squeezed back "My spy." He smiled. She could feel it even though she couldn't see it. "Some things never change."

* * *

><p><strong>AN**I never expected the story to turn out this way, or get as dark as it did. I may go back over them and use the names more uniformly. Sarah W. should be used to refer to the fragments as they appear, not to Sarah Walker.

I'll slack off on the new stories, I think. There are many Chuck stories to tell, and I have many ideas, but I have novels to finish and stuff like that, and I've been away from them too long. I do hope you'll take the time to leave me a comment now that the story is complete. Thanks!


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